


The Bastard of Winterfell – Alternate Chapters

by PrettyPoppy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate chapters, Angst, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPoppy/pseuds/PrettyPoppy
Summary: A collection of alternate chapters written for "The Bastard of Winterfell."
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	1. Alternate Chapter Two

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Bastard of Winterfell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781405) by [PrettyPoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPoppy/pseuds/PrettyPoppy). 



> I wrote the first draft of “The Bastard of Winterfell” for NaNoWriMo back in 2018. Since I needed to pad my word count for NaNo that year (I was going for 250k words), I decided to write alternate versions of several chapters in order to see if the alternate versions worked better. In the end, I ended up keeping almost all of the original chapters in the final version, but I didn’t want all that alternate material to go to waste, so I decided to share it here. The chapters in this collection are not complete chapters. I’ve only included the parts that are fundamentally different from what made it into the final draft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the alternate ending to Chapter Two. Sansa and Arya are in the yard, watching Eddard head back to the keep while they talk. In the original draft of this chapter, Sansa is very much in love with Tyrion, but also very much in denial about it. I was afraid that Sansa’s feelings for him were just too soft in the original version, so I wanted to write a version where she was a bit less sympathetic toward Tyrion. This version includes a rather lengthy discussion about Arya leaving Winterfell someday, which I decided not to use because I felt it obligated me to address the issue again at the end of the story, something I had no desire to do. Arya left Winterfell at the end of my first Sanrion story, “A Most Suitable Marriage,” and I didn’t want to retread old ground.

#### Alternate Chapter Two

“He really is adorable, isn’t he?” Arya said, watching after Eddard with an uncharacteristic softness in her eyes. “Almost makes me want to have one.”

“Maybe you should,” Sansa replied, moving up beside her sister and walking slowly with her toward the keep.

“Nah. That’s not for me. I think, when winter’s over, I’ll go south and join the Kingsguard. Or maybe become the new Master of Whispers. What do you think?”

“I think I’d rather that you stay here where you belong. You’re a Stark, and there are already too few Starks in Winterfell for my liking.”

“There only needs to be one. _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell_ ,” Arya said, mimicking their father’s voice.

“Yes, I know, but I’m not a Stark anymore. I’m a Lannister, and so is Eddard. We need you here, if just for your name alone.”

Arya laughed. “That’s a pathetic excuse for making me stay. You’re no more a Lannister than I am. You’re a Stark through and through, and you make a fine Lady of Winterfell. You don’t need me here anymore. You never did.”

Sansa stopped, forcing Arya to stop with her. They were just beyond the door to the Great Hall, but Sansa had no desire to go in just yet. She turned and looked at her sister, her sister who had changed so much since they had both left Winterfell for King’s Landing so many years ago. Gone was the little girl who had been forced to wear dresses and act like a lady. In her place was a fierce fighter, one of the heroes of the Great War, the woman who had single-handedly avenged the murder of their mother and brother. Sansa was still in awe of Arya, still admired her in a way that she couldn’t put into words. Arya had helped her put an end to Littlefinger. Arya had saved her life.

“I have always needed you, Arya,” Sansa said. “Always, even when I didn’t know it. I need you now more than ever. I’m alone here at Winterfell. I have no one but Eddard. And I don’t want to be alone. I’ve spent too much of my life alone, and I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

“And when winter is over? Will you be ready then?”

Sansa knew she wouldn’t be, but she couldn’t admit that to Arya. “We’ll see.”

Arya scoffed. “We’ll see. You mean no, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I know what you meant. But I can’t stay here forever, Sansa. You must know that.”

“No, I don’t know that. You could be perfectly happy here as captain of the guard or as my chief advisor. Whichever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer neither, and you know it. Sansa, this isn’t about me at all, is it? This is about you being afraid to move on with your life.”

Sansa pulled her cloak closer around herself, suddenly feeling the cold more acutely than before. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. Tyrion Lannister?”

Sansa’s entire body stiffened at the mention of Tyrion’s name. No one ever mentioned his name. It was verboten at Winterfell, something thought but never spoken. There was no reason to say it. Tyrion was long gone, far away in a distant land. For all Sansa knew, he was long dead already and she was just waiting for a ghost.

“What . . . what about him?” Sansa asked.

Arya rolled her eyes, betraying her youth with that single gesture. “He’s not coming back.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you waiting for him?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why haven’t you remarried? Jon could secure you the most desirable husband in all of Westeros, if only you’d ask him.”

“I don’t want another husband.”

“Why? Because you’re hoping Tyrion comes back?”

Sansa would never admit such a thing. Not ever. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted Tyrion to come back. Their time together had been astonishingly brief, filled with more bad memories than good, but the good memories were just too strong for her to let them go.

After she’d escaped King’s Landing, after Tyrion had fled Westeros, Sansa’s life had gotten worse instead of better. She had followed Littlefinger to the Vale, believed every single lie that he’d told her, been manipulated by him at every turn. Tyrion Lannister was the only man she had ever known, whose last name wasn’t Stark, who had not tried to manipulate her or use her for his own selfish ends. She couldn’t trust anyone anymore—not after what Littlefinger had put her through—least of all a new husband.

“I know that Tyrion is never coming back,” Sansa said. “I’m not waiting for him.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“A man I can trust. A man who wants me for more than my name and my position. Someone who can help me rebuild the north.”

“And Jon can find you that. I know he can.”

Sansa shook her head. It was clear that Arya just didn’t understand.

“Trust isn’t something that just magically appears because you will it to,” Sansa said. “It’s something that has to be earned over time. I trust Jon, yes, to find me the best husband that he possibly can. But Jon is too trusting sometimes. He always wants to believe the best of people. He will find me someone he believes to be brave and strong, I’m sure, but what that man will be like behind closed doors is another matter altogether. I would rather not take that chance. I would rather be alone and belong solely to myself than become the property of yet another man.”

“This is all Littlefinger’s doing, isn’t it?” Arya asked, her voice hardening.

“Yes.” The word was so weak that it almost got lost on the wind.

“I’m sorry that I just left you there in King’s Landing. I’m sorry that I didn’t get back to you in time.”

“No,” Sansa said, “don’t be. You did what you had to do to survive, that’s all. And so did I.”

They were both quiet for a moment, the sins and tragedies of the preceding years dancing through both their heads as if it had all just happened yesterday. It was too painful to bear sometimes, but Sansa was grateful that she had Arya there to suffer through it with her. No one understood her pain the way Arya did. No one.

Without a word, Arya slipped one gloved hand into Sansa’s and squeezed it tightly. Although they had never been close as children, they had grown exponentially closer once they had both returned to Winterfell. Tragedy had a way of drawing people together, especially family, and they had suffered more than their fair share of tragedy.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sansa,” Arya said softly, her voice warm and comforting. “Not while you still need me.”

“Thank you. I’m not ready to lose you yet.”

“But when you do take a husband—”

“I won’t. I won’t ever. Winterfell has its heir, and there’s no need for me to ever let a man into my life again.”

“All right, _if_ you do take a husband, then I will leave. Is that all right?”

Sansa’s first instinct was to argue with Arya, but there was no point. Tyrion Lannister was never coming back, and Sansa had no intention of taking another husband. She valued her autonomy, and her safety, far too much. She could promise Arya anything and it wouldn’t matter because it all hinged on her having a husband by her side again, something that would never come to pass.

“All right,” Sansa said. “When I am happily ensconced in the Great Keep with a husband by my side, you will be free to leave, but not before.”

Arya squeezed Sansa’s hand one more time before letting it go. “Well, then I suppose I should write to Jon straight away and get him working on it, shouldn’t I?”

The glint in Arya’s eyes told Sansa that she was only half joking, and Sansa’s heart beat a sickly rhythm as an unexpected sense of dread washed over her.

“Don’t you dare,” Sansa warned.

“Or what? You’ll have me thrown out of Winterfell?” Arya said with a laugh.

“No, I’ll have you thrown in a cell, never to see the light of day again.”

Arya gave Sansa a cynical look. “There isn’t a cell in this world that could hold me. So, that’s an idle threat. I think I’ll go get started on that letter.” Arya smirked. “I’ll see you later, big sister.” And then, she ambled through the door to the Great Hall without another look in Sansa’s direction.

Sansa fought the urge to swear. Instead, she said a silent prayer, praying to any god who would listen that Arya didn’t send a letter off to Jon asking him to find her a husband. That was the very last thing in the world Sansa wanted. She wanted to be alone with her family at Winterfell for the rest of her days. She didn’t want a new husband—she wasn’t even sure she wanted her old husband. She just wanted peace and quiet for herself and a safe and happy childhood for Eddard, that was all.


	2. Alternate Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this alternate version of Chapter Nineteen, it is Arya, not Jaime, who finds Tyrion in the glass gardens a few hours before he is supposed to bed Sansa for the first time since his return to Winterfell. I wrote this version because Sansa and Jaime have a heart-to-heart in the following chapter and I was afraid that I was using Jaime too much at this point in the story. Both versions serve the same purpose, but ultimately, I chose to use the Jaime chapter simply because I enjoyed it more.

#### Alternate Chapter Nineteen

It took Tyrion longer than he would have liked to get his emotions under control. When he finally opened his eyes again, Jaime was leading Brienne away from the glass gardens, and Tyrion sighed in relief, his breath rattling in his chest. His relief was short-lived, however, because a moment later, he was startled by the sound of a familiar voice behind him.

“I knew you were a pervert, but I never realized that you liked to spy on other people’s assignations.”

Tyrion nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to find Arya standing behind him, her hands clasped behind her back, a disinterested look on her face.

Tyrion clutched his chest, willing his heart to slow its beating. “You almost scared me half to death.”

Arya shrugged. “Too bad it wasn’t all the way to death.”

Tyrion let go of his chest and exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to calm his frayed nerves. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who gets some kind of perverse pleasure out of spying on other people. Just how long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough.”

“Well, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would simply mind your own business and leave me to wallow in my own self-pity in peace.”

Arya slowly shook her head. There was obvious disapproval in her eyes. Disapproval and judgment. Finally, she broke his gaze and meandered a little farther down the path. “I can’t do that,” she said as she stopped to lean over a bed of herbs and take in their scent. “You don’t deserve the luxury of wallowing in your own self-pity. After all, what in the world do you deserve pity for?”

Tyrion laughed bitterly. “You act as if you’ve never seen me,” he replied, holding his hands out to his sides and looking down at himself.

Arya turned her head toward him. “I’ve seen you. What’s your point?”

“You know what my point is,” Tyrion said, dropping his arms.

Arya straightened again. She turned so that her whole body was facing him. “So you’re a dwarf. So what?”

“So what?”

“Yes, so what? Who cares? You’re the Lord of Winterfell. You have a beautiful wife, a beautiful son—”

“Don’t,” Tyrion said, stopping her before she could go any further. “Just don’t. I don’t want to have this discussion.”

“Fine. We won’t. But the point is, when I look at you, I don’t see a man who deserves anyone’s pity. I see a man who has everything he could ever want; he’s just too stupid to realize it.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“Of course it is. You’re going to my sister’s bed tonight, and instead of feeling like the luckiest man in the world, you’re hiding in the glass gardens, spying on other people’s love, feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t think you could be more pathetic if you tried.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope for that Sansa hadn’t told you about her plans.”

A wry smile pulled at Arya’s lips. It wasn’t often that she smiled anymore, but when she did, it was usually because she was disgustingly self-satisfied. “My sister and I don’t keep secrets from each other. I know everything that goes on between the two of you. Don’t think that I don’t.”

A cold sense of dread settled deep in Tyrion’s chest, and suddenly, he was even more anxious about the night to come. It was bad enough that he would have to share Sansa’s bed, but knowing that she would then run and tell Arya everything that happened between them was deeply unnerving. He didn’t want to think that they’d both be judging his performance. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and he was already insecure. This new bit of information just made matters worse.

“I suppose,” Tyrion said, “that means you’re expecting a full report in the morning.”

Arya’s smile grew infinitesimally wider. “If you hurt her tonight, I will kill you. If she cries so much as a single tear because of you, you will regret ever having married my sister in the first place.”

“I already regret it. I regret it every damn day.”

The smirk on Arya’s face was instantly replaced by a scowl. “Don’t ever let her hear you say that.”

“Why?” Tyrion asked. “It isn’t like she doesn’t already know. Everyone knows. It’s no great secret.”

There was suddenly something dark in Arya’s eyes. It wasn’t exactly anger; it was more like pain. “If you want to preserve your own life, Lord Lannister, I would suggest that you start being a lot kinder to my sister, especially under the circumstances. This isn’t any easier for her than it is for you. Besides, you owe her. After all, you’re the one who abandoned her, and you’re the one who refuses to believe that she has been faithful. The least you can do is show her a little consideration, a little kindness, when you go to her bed tonight.”

Tyrion bobbed his head in agreement, barely conscious of the action. Although he had not been looking forward to bedding Sansa again, he had already made up his mind to make the experience as pleasant for her as possible. He didn’t want to hurt her. He knew she had been through a lot. He knew she despised him. The last thing she needed was for him to be cold and callous in the bedchamber. He would do his best to make her happy, or at least comfortable. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain than he already had.

“I will do my best,” Tyrion said, the words hollow in his throat.

“I’ve heard your best is quite good,” Arya replied. “Or at least, it used to be. Make sure that you don’t leave my sister wanting. Make sure that, when you visit her tonight, you are as gracious and gentle as the bravest knight. It is the least she deserves.”

Tyrion swallowed the lump in his throat. He wondered if Arya knew that the first time he and Sansa had been together, it had been Loras Tyrell she’d been thinking of. He hoped she didn’t. Although Tyrion had very little pride left, he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Arya knew the truth.

His heart fluttering with anxiety, Tyrion said, “I shall endeavor to do everything in my power to make your sister happy tonight.”

“If that is, in fact, the case, then I would suggest that when you go to her, you keep your mouth shut.” Arya paused for a moment, and then, suddenly, she laughed. “Well, at least refrain from talking. I suspect there are a great many things you’re going to need your mouth for, but talking isn’t one of them.”

Tyrion felt the heat rising in his cheeks, a peculiar sensation he hadn’t experienced since he was a boy. He was blushing. He never blushed. And yet, listening to Arya Stark give him advice on how to pleasure her sister had embarrassed him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Tyrion fidgeted awkwardly on his feet, wishing he was just about anywhere else in the world at that moment. He didn’t know what to say. Arya Stark had somehow rendered him speechless.

Arya laughed again. “I didn’t realize you were such a prig. I suppose all those stories about you aren’t true after all.”

“Oh, they’re true,” Tyrion said, suddenly feeling the need to defend his nefarious reputation. “But I will be visiting the Lady of Winterfell tonight, not a common brothel whore. There is a huge difference, and I am acutely aware of it.”

“Good, because Sansa is your wife and she deserves your respect. And if you do anything—”

Tyrion held up a hand, instantly stopping her. “Yes, I know, you will kill me. I’ve heard this before.”

Arya nodded. “Then I suppose we have nothing more to say to each other.”

“I suppose not.”

“I will see you at dinner,” Arya said. “I expect you to stay sober all evening. And enough with the self-pity. It’s just embarrassing for all of us.” She turned around then and walked to the door. Without another glance back, she pulled it open and a gust of cold air rushed in around her as she left the glass gardens.

When the door closed behind her, all was quiet, and even though the air was warm again, Tyrion still felt cold.

He didn’t want any of this. Now, he wished that he had never listened to Bronn in the first place, that he had just followed his original plan and headed straight to Casterly Rock, the consequences be damned. But he had listened to Bronn, and now, here he was, trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who clearly despised him. And Arya’s meddling had made everything worse. Before their little talk, Tyrion had been certain that he was capable of surviving the coming ordeal, but now, he was in serious doubt of his ability to perform. He was in desperate need of a stiff drink, but Arya had warned him against it. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the night sober, but he had no choice.

Tyrion swore violently, swatting at the bed of turnip greens in front of him. He’d had enough of the Starks for one day. And enough of Winterfell. He decided then and there that he was going to bolt himself in his chamber until dinner and ignore every last knock at the door. He needed time to think. He needed time to prepare. Evening was fast approaching, and far too soon, he would once again find himself in Sansa Stark’s bed.


	3. Alternate Chapter Twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Twenty-two takes place immediately after Tyrion has bedded Sansa for the first time since his return to Winterfell. In the original draft, Arya visits Sansa right after Tyrion leaves and ends up cuddling in bed with her to offer her comfort. When I wrote the original version, it felt strikingly similar to Chapter Six of “A Most Suitable Marriage,” and I wanted to try something different. So in this alternate version, Arya visits Sansa the next morning instead of that very same night.
> 
> This alternate version of Chapter Twenty-two was written to correspond with the alternate version of Chapter Nineteen, which is why Arya tells Sansa about her conversation with Tyrion in the glass gardens. Also, earlier in the story, Sansa confesses her love for Tyrion to Arya. I had originally intended to edit out that confession, which is why Arya is still trying to get Sansa to admit her feelings here.

#### Alternate Chapter Twenty-two

It was a long and fitful night for Sansa. Despite her utter exhaustion, she was barely able to sleep. When she awoke the next morning, she ached all over and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep the day away, but as the Lady of Winterfell, she simply didn’t have that luxury. The only luxury she did have was the privilege of calling for a hot bath before she started the day. She enjoyed a leisurely soak in the steaming tub before allowing her handmaiden to dress her and arrange her hair.

As Sansa sat at her dressing table, waiting for the girl to finish, there was an unexpected knock at the door. She held her breath, silently praying that it wasn’t Tyrion. She was in no mood to face him just yet.

It wasn’t until the second knock that Sansa finally said, “Come in.”

A moment later, the door opened and Sansa saw Arya’s reflection in the mirror on her dressing table.

Sansa had expected Arya to have a knowing smirk on her face, but she didn’t. Her expression was as unreadable as ever. It put Sansa’s mind at ease, just a little. She hoped it meant that Arya had not come to interrogate her about what had happened with Tyrion the night before.

“You may leave us now,” Sansa told her handmaiden as she turned around to face Arya.

Arya didn’t speak. She waited for the maidservant to leave before entering the room and closing the door behind her. She ambled across the floor, stopping a few feet in front of Sansa. “I trust you slept well, Lady Lannister.”

Sansa scowled. Now, she knew for certain why Arya had come.

“I slept well enough, thank you,” Sansa answered as she finally stood. She suddenly felt like a caged animal, and she was eager to leave her chamber.

Sansa moved toward the door, but Arya sidestepped directly into her path, stopping her in her tracks.

“Does that mean that I need to kill someone for you this morning?”

“What?” Sansa was taken aback by the question.

“You said you slept well enough. That makes it sound like you didn’t sleep well at all. Did Lord Tyrion do what you asked of him last night? Or did he find a way to wheedle out of it, like the wily little imp he is?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know. I thought you knew everything that goes on at Winterfell. I’m surprised you weren’t standing outside my door all night.”

A hint of color tinged Arya’s cheeks, a rare sight indeed. “There are some things that even I can’t stomach,” she replied. “And listening to my sister fuck her husband is one of them.”

Sansa stared at Arya in shocked horror, and Arya laughed.

“You still embarrass far too easily, don’t you, my lady?” Arya said with mock courtesy. “Tell me, did you keep the candles burning all night, or did you hide beneath the covers in the dark when he came to you?”

Now, it was Sansa’s cheeks that were flaming red. She turned away from her sister, trying to compose herself. She was relieved that Arya hadn’t stood at the door the night before spying on her and Tyrion, but she was troubled by the fact that Arya was now demanding details.

“I thought you said you couldn’t stomach the idea of what went on in this room last night.”

“No, what I said was that I didn’t want to listen to it while it was happening. But I have to admit, even I am a bit curious about what happened once the two of you were alone together.”

Sansa absently began to play with the bottles of perfume and lotion that lined one edge of her dressing table. She refused to look at Arya again. “Exactly what you think happened,” Sansa said. “He did his duty, and he left. That’s all.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“And when he left, did he leave you in tears?”

Sansa picked up her hairbrush and idly ran her fingers over the boar’s hair bristles over and over again, trying to somehow keep herself grounded. “No, he didn’t.”

“Did you fight at all?”

“No,” the word was hollow, empty. Although it was true—they hadn’t fought, not really—it didn’t seem the least bit like a victory. Tyrion had done his duty and then abandoned her. That seemed to be his way in all things where she was concerned. There were times when she was certain that he cared for her, at least a little, and then there were times when she was certain that she meant nothing to him at all.

“Does that mean he kept his mouth shut all night?” Arya asked.

“What?” Sansa turned her head just enough to look askance at Arya.

“Did he behave himself like I told him to?”

“You . . . told him to?”

“Yes,” Arya said, her spine straightening just a little. It was clear that she was quite proud of herself and determined to take some of the credit for Tyrion’s behavior the night before.

“When? How?”

“Yesterday, in the glass gardens. I told him that if he hurt you, that if he made you cry so much as a single tear, I would kill him. I told him to keep his mouth shut and just do his duty. I suppose it worked then.”

Sansa stared at Arya, thunderstruck. “How . . . how could you do such a thing?”

“Quite easily, I assure you. I wanted to make sure that he didn’t make things worse for you. He’s hurt you enough, Sansa. I didn’t want him to hurt you again.”

Sansa was appalled that Arya had talked to Tyrion about their night together. Threatened him even. Yes, Sansa had been grateful that Tyrion hadn’t tried to talk to her after the first time she had kissed him, but she’d had no idea that it was because her sister had warned him against it. Sansa felt bad enough about forcing Tyrion into her bed. Now, she felt ten times worse knowing that he had only been on his best behavior because Arya had threatened to kill him if he did anything to upset her.

Sansa turned her back on Arya, unable to bear the sight of her any longer. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Why? You said he did his duty. You said he didn’t make you cry. I can’t see how I’ve done anything wrong.”

Sansa’s fingers tightened around the hairbrush still in her hand. She closed her eyes for a moment and willed her temper under control. When she was certain that she could speak without snapping at Arya, she opened her eyes again and relaxed her grip on the brush. “Tyrion is my husband. There are some things between a husband and wife that should stay just between a husband and wife. Yes, Tyrion makes me cry more often than not, but he is my husband, and I am the one who needs to deal with him, not you. Particularly in such delicate circumstances.”

“You need not act as if I don’t know what goes on between you when you’re alone. I may not look grown, but I am no child, and I have seen and done things that you can’t even begin to imagine. I don’t need you to lecture me, Sansa. I understand that what you and Tyrion do in your bedchamber is private, but that doesn’t mean it’s a secret. I’m sorry if you think I overstepped my bounds. I was only trying to help.”

Sansa suddenly felt contrite. She hadn’t meant to snap at Arya, but her embarrassment had gotten the best of her. Without turning around to look at Arya, Sansa said, “I’m sorry too. I know you didn’t mean me any harm.”

“I didn’t. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, Sansa. Not after everything you’ve been through, not after everything we’ve both been through. I will not discuss such matters with Tyrion again. You have my word.”

Sansa finally turned around and looked at Arya again. “Does that mean that you will stop threatening him as well?”

Arya snorted. “Of course not. If he steps out of line, there will be consequences, and he needs to know that.”

Sansa wished that Arya would stay out of her personal affairs, but she held her tongue. She knew that Arya wouldn’t be swayed no matter what she said, so it was best just to leave well enough alone. “Well, you won’t be able to make your threats for much longer, so I suppose it’s a moot point.”

“You don’t think he’ll stay?”

“I know he won’t stay.”

“Even if you’re with child?”

Sansa’s hands instinctively went to her stomach, even though it was far too soon to tell if Tyrion’s seed had taken root. She hadn’t even thought that far ahead. She’d been so fixated on getting through the night, that she hadn’t taken a moment to consider what life would be like if they had, in fact, conceived another child. Would Tyrion still leave, or would the idea of raising his own child be too tempting for him to ignore? Of course, he didn’t believe that Eddard was his, but if there was a new baby, he could have no doubt of its paternity. Would that be enough to make him stay?

“Well?” Arya prompted when Sansa didn’t answer.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

A warm smile pulled at Arya’s lips. “I think Lord Tyrion might be inclined to stay if he knew you were carrying his child.”

“He might, but only for selfish reasons.”

“Does that really matter?”

Sansa thought for a moment. She knew that if Tyrion changed his mind and decided to stay, the reason behind it really wouldn’t matter. If he stayed, it would mean that Winterfell would finally have a lord capable of ruling, it would mean that Eddard would finally have a father. But even so, the thought that Tyrion might stay for a child and not for her wounded Sansa deeply. She knew it was selfish, and she would never admit how she felt, but she felt it all the same. “I suppose not,” Sansa answered, not meaning a single word.

“But you’d like him to stay because he wants you, not because he wants a child.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Sansa didn’t know how to reply.

“I want him to do whatever he wants to do. I don’t want him to stay here if he’s going to spend the rest of his life resenting it, resenting me. All we ever seem to do is fight. New baby or not, I don’t want him to stay at Winterfell just so we can spend the rest of our lives arguing.”

Arya smiled knowingly. “Apparently, there are some things you do that don’t involve arguing. Who says you ever need to talk again? Just spend the next fifty years keeping company together in your bed. Then, you won’t have any problems at all.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that.”

“Doesn’t it? Are you saying he disappointed you last night?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”

“Well then?”

“He didn’t even want to come to me last night, and I doubt he ever will again. No, Tyrion and I will not be able to mend what’s broken between us, even if we spent the rest of our lives doing nothing but . . . well, you know. It wouldn’t change anything, and I don’t even want to think about it.”

Sansa lowered her hands from her stomach, suddenly wishing she had never asked Tyrion to come to her bed in the first place. It was just making things more complicated, more painful, and she wished she could forget all about it and let Tyrion go once and for all.

Arya shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Sansa replied, straightening her spine to illustrate her determination. “Now, if there isn’t anything else . . .”

“No, that was all. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

Sansa fluffed out her skirt and then smoothed it down self-consciously. “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

Arya nodded slowly. “You’re about as perfectly fine as you were when you were being held prisoner in King’s Landing, though I suppose now you’re in a different kind of prison.”

“I would appreciate it if you would stop meddling in my affairs. I’m fine, Arya. And I’ll be even better once Tyrion’s finally gone.”

“You don’t really believe that, not any more than I do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that what you feel for Tyrion isn’t going to go away just because he leaves Winterfell. Whether or not he leaves you with a new baby, you’ll still have Eddard and you’ll still have your memories. And you’ll still be in love with him, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.”

But Sansa refused to admit it. The last thing in the world she needed was to give Arya more fuel for her fire. So Sansa ignored the issue altogether. “I’ve spent the past five years without Tyrion Lannister in my life, and when he’s gone, everything will go back to the way it was. Nothing’s going to change, and I will be perfectly fine on my own.”

“Even though you haven’t been perfectly fine for the last five years?”

“I’ve managed.”

“Yes, you’ve managed—quite admirably, I might add. But is that what you really want for yourself, Sansa? To spend the rest of your life just managing?”

“And what do you suggest? What can I possibly do to change any of this?”

“Maybe something. Maybe nothing. I don’t know. But at least admit how you really feel. Not to me. I don’t matter. But to yourself. Be honest with yourself, Sansa, before your heart is irrevocably broken.”

Sansa looked away, unable to withstand Arya’s scrutiny any longer. She knew how she felt about Tyrion. She could deny it all she wanted, but deep down in her heart, she knew that she loved him. She always had, and she always would. But she didn’t see how admitting that would do her any good. It was Tyrion who was determined to walk away. It was Tyrion who had chosen to destroy their relationship, and she couldn’t do anything to fix that. She couldn’t do anything to change him.

“I appreciate your concern,” Sansa said, “but what I feel is irrelevant.” She inhaled a steadying breath and looked at Arya again. “Now, I think I’ve had enough of this for one day. I have a great many things to see to, and I’ve already lingered here far too long. I will see you at luncheon.”

Arya eyed Sansa shrewdly. It was obvious that there was still much she wanted to say, but thankfully, she kept it all to herself. “As you wish, my lady.”

Arya turned around and walked to the door with calm, even steps. She was gone before Sansa could take another breath.

The instant the door closed, Sansa collapsed onto the bench beside her dressing table. She stared out into the room blindly, not knowing what to think or do or feel. She didn’t want Tyrion to go. She loved him. She would always love him. But she just didn’t have the strength to ask him to stay.


	4. Alternate Chapter Twenty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes two alternate scenes from Chapter Twenty-six. The first is a different version of Sansa and Eddard’s conversation immediately after she tells him that Tyrion is going to leave Winterfell. In this version, Eddard wants Sansa to command Tyrion to stay, something she simply cannot do. This was the original version of the scene, and I chose to rewrite it because I was afraid that Eddard sounded just a bit too grown-up.
> 
> That scene is followed by the original ending to Chapter Twenty-six. Sansa has just told Arya that Tyrion asked her to swear an oath on their father’s bones and Arya has threatened to have Jon execute Tyrion, leaving Sansa no choice but to confess her love for him. Arya is a great deal more sympathetic to Sansa's feelings in this version than she is in the one that made it into the final story. I had really wanted to use this version, but an editing mistake made that impossible. Here, Sansa elicits Arya’s sympathy by finally confessing her feelings for Tyrion. The only problem is, she had already confessed her love for him to Arya in Chapter Eighteen. As I mentioned in the previous author’s note, I had originally intended to edit out that confession, but I forgot to do it, and ultimately, that made this version of the scene unusable.

#### Alternate Chapter Twenty-six

“Make him stay, Mother,” Eddard pleaded as he snuggled up closer to Sansa, his voice thick from crying. “Please.”

“I wish I could, for your sake.”

“Then do it. Command him to stay.”

“I can’t command him to do anything. He is the Lord of Winterfell. He’s the one who gives the commands, not me. You know that.”

“Then I will tell him to stay.” Eddard tried to slip from her arms, but Sansa wouldn’t let him go.

“No, you are staying right here.”

“But I have to get to Father before he leaves.”

Sansa didn’t think that Eddard would be able to make Tyrion stay, but she wouldn’t stop him from trying. “You will see him tomorrow, one way or the other, whether here or in the winter town. Then you can ask him to stay.”

“But I want to go now!”

“Not tonight,” Sansa said, pulling him even closer. “Now, try to get some sleep. We can talk about this again in the morning.”

Eddard tried to squirm out of her arms again, but some of the fight had gone out of him, and eventually, he settled down and fell asleep.

***

“Arya, please,” Sansa pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t do this.”

“Why? You obviously care more about Tyrion Lannister than you do about us Starks. Why shouldn’t I drive the lion from the wolves’ den? Give me one good reason.”

“Because I love him. You know I do. I love him, and I don’t want him gone from this world. Please, Arya. I’ve already lost too much. Don’t take this away from me too. Please.”

The tears were flowing freely by the time Sansa finished, and she was afraid that Arya was going to laugh at her, but she didn’t. Instead, Arya reached out and wrapped her arms around Sansa, holding her tightly.

“Oh, Sansa, I’m so sorry,” Arya said, her words full of genuine sympathy. “I’m so very sorry.”

Sansa was startled by the sudden change in her sister’s behavior. For a moment, she didn’t know what to think or how to react. Then, slowly, she wrapped her arms around Arya and pulled her even closer.

“Why are you sorry?” Sansa asked, afraid that she didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’m sorry that you’re in this much pain. I’m sorry that you love Tyrion Lannister so much that you betrayed your own family for him.”

“But he is my family. Just as much as you and Jon and Bran. He’s my husband. He’s a Stark by marriage, and together, we made a little Stark of our own. Please don’t hate me for loving him. Please don’t. I’ll just die if you do. I can’t lose you too, Arya. I have so little now— _we_ have so little now—don’t let this drive us apart.”

“I’m glad that you finally admitted it,” Arya mumbled against Sansa’s shoulder.

“What?” Sansa wasn’t quite sure she’d heard Arya correctly.

Arya pulled back, just far enough to look up at Sansa. “I’m glad that you finally admitted how you feel about Tyrion. Lying doesn’t suit you, Sansa. It doesn’t suit us Starks.”

“I never lied about my feelings for him.”

“Yes, you did, through denial and omission. You did for five long years. And don’t deny it.”

Sansa looked away, shamefaced. Arya was right, of course, but it was hard for her to admit it.

“Look at me, Sansa.”

Sansa reluctantly met Arya’s gaze again.

“I’m hurt by what you did,” Arya said. “I feel like you chose Tyrion over Mother and Father.”

Sansa opened her mouth to protest, but Arya stopped her.

“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand why you did it. Or that I can’t forgive you. You didn’t lie on Father’s bones. You told Tyrion the truth. I just wish it had never come to that, that’s all. But now that we’re here, we have to figure out how to move forward.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m grateful for it just the same.”

“You’re welcome.” Arya let Sansa go then and took a step back. “So, are you going to tell Tyrion that he can stay, or do you still intend to send him away?”

“He may already be gone.”

“Well, if he is, you’ll just have to go after him.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, I don’t want to do that.”

Arya sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes for greater effect. “Are you really going to make me take back everything I just said? I was proud of you for admitting how you really feel, and now, you want to wallow in self-pity again?”

“It isn’t self-pity,” Sansa said. “I already told Eddard that Tyrion is leaving. And whether he leaves tonight or he leaves in a moonturn, the outcome is going to be the same. Better to get it over with than to prolong the agony any longer. What’s done is done, and we should just let it go.”

Arya moved up beside Sansa, and before Sansa knew what was happening, Arya reached up on her tiptoes and smacked Sansa on the back of the head.

Sansa gasped, more shocked than hurt. “What was that for?”

“For being the stupidest girl in all the Seven Kingdoms. Now, go out that door and find your husband. Tell him how you feel and ask him to stay, before I change my mind about turning him in to Jon.”

Sansa stared at Arya, trying to gauge the sincerity of her threat. It was obvious from the look in her eyes that she had meant every last word.

“Well?” Arya prompted when Sansa didn’t move.

Sansa looked down at herself, suddenly acutely aware of her disheveled state. “I can’t go like this.”

“You can, and you will.” Arya moved up behind Sansa and shoved her toward the door. “Now go, before I drag you there myself.”

Sansa stumbled forward, her feet refusing to take her where she knew she needed to go. She didn’t want to see Tyrion again tonight, not looking the way she did. She was certain that her eyes were red and her face was blotchy, and she didn’t ever want Tyrion to see her in such a state.

When Sansa finally reached the door, she just couldn’t bring herself to open it.

Arya sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t. I just . . . I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Arya crossed the space between them, stopping beside Sansa. “Better he should see you all red and puffy than he should leave before you get a chance to talk to him. What will the villagers think if the Lord of Winterfell shows up at the inn in the middle of the night when he has a perfectly good bed of his own? What will that mean for Winterfell and for you?”

Sansa hadn’t thought of that. Yes, it would look quite suspicious if the new lord of the keep abandoned his post to suddenly go live in the village. It was one thing for him to travel to Casterly Rock, that was his ancestral home, but it was another thing entirely for him to live in the village when the castle was only a short distance away. Suddenly, Sansa had the excuse she needed to visit Tyrion and rescind her earlier demand.

“All right, I’ll go,” Sansa said. “But I make no promises about what will happen.”

Arya smiled knowingly. “Oh, I know what will happen. We all know what will happen.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will. Because we both know how much you want him.”

Sansa refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, she just turned around and left the room.


	5. Alternate Chapter Thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original version of this chapter, Sansa tells Tyrion that she’s pregnant, he agrees to stay at Winterfell, and they finally confess their love. While I absolutely love that version, I was a little concerned that it was just too fluffy and sweet. Also, I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the fact that Tyrion agreed to stay at Winterfell only AFTER he learned that Sansa was pregnant. Although the pregnancy was not the deciding factor in Tyrion’s decision to stay, I would have liked that to have been a little more clear. So, since I had more than one issue with the original chapter, I decided to write an alternate version. Ultimately, I chose to use the first version simply because I liked it better.
> 
> The end of this chapter is quite similar to the end of Chapter Thirty-three in the finished story. If I had used this version of Chapter Thirty-two, I would have changed the ending of Chapter Thirty-three.

#### Alternate Chapter Thirty-two

As the day of Tyrion’s departure drew closer, Sansa knew she had no choice but to ask him if he intended to stay at Winterfell, even though she feared his answer. And so, one afternoon, she found herself outside the door to his study, trying to work up the courage to knock. For the past fortnight, everything had been perfect between them, but neither one of them had said a single word about his impending departure.

Sansa squared her shoulders, inhaled a steadying breath, and forced herself to knock on the door.

“Come in,” Tyrion called. He sounded distracted, as if he was deeply ensconced in his work.

Sansa was tempted to turn around and leave. She didn’t want to bother him if he had important affairs to tend to, but she also didn’t want to take the coward’s way out. Making a decision about their future, and the future of Winterfell, was just as important as whatever Tyrion was working on, and they couldn’t put off discussing it any longer.

Sansa opened the door and stepped inside, not looking at Tyrion until the door was closed behind her and she had turned around to face him. He was sitting behind his desk, a quill in his hand, stacks of papers on either side of him. Even though he looked busy, he didn’t seem the least bit troubled by the interruption.

“I’m sorry to bother you, my lord.”

Tyrion tossed his pen aside and smiled up at her. “It’s no bother at all. For you, Sansa, I have all the time in the world.” He leaned back in his chair, motioning toward the seat across from him. “Please, sit and tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

Sansa lowered herself into the chair, keeping her back straight, her breathing even. She didn’t want Tyrion to know that she had an emotional stake in what she was about to ask him. She wanted to discuss the matter calmly and rationally, like two reasonable adults, without emotions clouding their judgment. Of course, what she really wanted was for Tyrion to agree to stay because he was as desperately in love with her as she was with him, but she refused to get her hopes up. Although they were lovers, neither one of them had ever used the word _love_ in regard to their relationship, and Sansa didn’t want to guilt Tyrion into using it now. If he was going to stay at Winterfell, she wanted to be certain of his motives, whatever they were, even if he just intended to stay out of a sense of obligation to Eddard or because he enjoyed sharing her bed.

“We need to talk,” Sansa said, purposefully keeping her tone even.

Tyrion’s eyes narrowed on her in question, as if he was trying to figure out, without asking, exactly what it was that they needed to discuss. “I’m sure there are a great many things that we need to talk about, my lady. Please, tell me why you’ve come.”

Sansa knew there was no point in putting off the inevitable, so she just came right out with it. “The day of your departure for Casterly Rock is fast approaching, and in light of recent events, I was wondering if you had, perhaps, reconsidered your plans.”

Tyrion leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his hands clasped in front of him. He examined Sansa with keen interest, and she would have given just about anything in the world to know what he was thinking at that moment.

“I thought you wanted me to go,” Tyrion said.

“I did. But things have changed. You are the Lord of Winterfell, after all, and you’ve more than proven yourself worthy of the title. If you wish to stay, I won’t stop you. You are free to do as you please. You may stay here at Winterfell, or you may go to Casterly Rock. The choice is yours.”

Tyrion stared at her for a long time, and Sansa could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating. She held her breath as she waited for him to answer, dreading his decision, but needing to hear it all the same.

Tyrion looked away for a moment, gazing idly about the room as if trying to decide how to reply. The longer it took him to answer, the more anxious Sansa became. Before she had asked the question, she had been almost certain of his answer, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

When Tyrion finally looked at Sansa again, there was a sadness in his eyes that she didn’t quite understand. “Sansa,” he said softly, “I know that things have been different between us ever since that night in the crypts. I know that things have changed, that there is trust between us now. But if I’m going to stay at Winterfell, I have to do it on my own terms. I have to be completely honest with you about my motives. Otherwise, it isn’t going to work. While I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, we can’t go on as we are, not without you knowing the truth. All of it.”

Sansa’s breath stilled in her throat, and her whole body began to tremble. She had never once feared that Tyrion might be hiding something from her. She had thought that everything was already out in the open between them. She had thought that they’d been completely honest with each other. But now, she didn’t know what to think. “Tyrion—”

“Please, Sansa, I have to do this. I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I have to tell you the truth. You value honesty above all else, don’t you?” he asked, clearly not expecting an answer. “And if that’s the case, then you need to know the truth.”

Sansa shook her head. “Why can’t we go on as we are? You’re happy, aren’t you? You seem happy, happier than I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I am happy, it’s true. I can’t deny that. But it’s a false happiness, predicated on a lie, or at least, an omission of the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” Sansa asked, afraid of the answer.

Tyrion sighed heavily. “The truth is . . . that I love you, Sansa Stark. I love you. And I want to stay at Winterfell for that reason and for that reason alone. I know that isn’t what you want to hear. I know that isn’t what you were expecting, but it’s the truth, and I’ve been holding onto it for far too long now. I needed to tell you before you agreed to let me stay because I’m tired of lying to you, I’m tired of pretending. You mean everything to me, Sansa, and I don’t want to deny it any longer.”

Sansa stared at Tyrion in stunned silence, her heart fluttering beneath her breast. She had never expected Tyrion to say any such thing. She had thought he was going to confess some horrible truth, but she had never imagined that the truth might not be so horrible after all. _Tyrion loved her?_ The thought was difficult for Sansa to even comprehend, but she didn’t doubt it for a moment. There was too much sincerity in his eyes and in his words for it to be anything but the truth.

When Sansa failed to reply, Tyrion broke her gaze, staring awkwardly down at the desk. “I know that isn’t what you wanted to hear, and if you still want me to go, I will understand. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or to demand anything that you don’t wish to give. I just wanted you to know the truth, that’s all. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. Words could not express everything that she was feeling at that moment, and she struggled to find a way to make Tyrion understand just what his love meant to her.

Sansa abruptly stood, and Tyrion’s eyes darted toward her. He looked scared, worried, as if he thought she had already made up her mind to exile him from Winterfell once and for all. Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course, but he didn’t know that yet.

Without a word, Sansa walked around the desk, stopping next to Tyrion. She turned his chair to face her, and then, she sank to her knees so that they were finally on an even level. She put her hands on either side of Tyrion’s face and gently drew him closer. A moment later, she kissed him softly, her heart swelling with love for him.

The kiss lingered for quite some time, and when Sansa finally pulled away, she found Tyrion staring back at her, his eyes still full of uncertainty. It was obvious that he didn’t understand what she was trying to convey, and she knew there was only one thing she could do. She had to tell him the truth, _her truth_ , before she lost him forever.

“Do you really think I want you to leave Winterfell?” Sansa asked, her voice a breathless whisper.

“Don’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I haven’t wanted that for a very long time.”

“Even knowing how I feel about you? Even knowing that you can never love me in return?”

A small smile tugged at Sansa’s lips. “You know, I used to believe that you were the cleverest man alive.”

“Did you now?”

“I did. But when you say things like that, it makes me question just how clever you truly are.”

“And why is that?”

“Because a clever man would see what’s clearly in front of him without doubting its existence. And yet you, Tyrion Lannister, cannot see what’s right before your eyes.”

Tyrion’s gaze traveled down the length of her, as if he was trying with all his might to figure out just what he was missing. Why he refused to see that she loved him, she couldn’t imagine. Perhaps, as Jaime had once told her, Tyrion still believed himself unworthy of happiness, and so he refused to even acknowledge its existence.

When Tyrion finally met her gaze again, he said, in all earnestness, “Tell me, Lady Lannister, what am I missing?”

Fighting back a wry smile, Sansa lifted a hand and crooked her finger, urging him to move closer. When he did, she leaned in and whispered against his ear, “I love you, Tyrion Lannister, with all my heart and all my soul. And I will love you until my dying day. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

Sansa pulled back then and looked into Tyrion’s eyes. They were clouded with disbelief, and she knew he was having difficulty believing her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Finally, after a long struggle, all he managed to say was, “Why?”

Sansa almost laughed, but she stopped herself, afraid that Tyrion might take it the wrong way. _Why?_ There were so many reasons why, reasons she wasn’t sure he would ever understand, but she had to at least try to explain. “Do you remember the one and only night you shared my bed back in King’s Landing?”

“Like it was yesterday. I shall never forget it.”

“You were kind to me then, and gentle, and understanding. You were my Knight of Flowers. And I have spent the past five years longing for your return so that we might rekindle what began between us all those years ago. It’s all I’ve wanted from that very night to this very day. I know it may seem silly, but I started falling in love with you that night back in King’s Landing. And I’ve fallen in love with you a little bit more every night since.”

“You mean, when we were thousands of leagues apart and didn’t see each other for many years?”

“Yes.”

Tyrion laughed. “I don’t think that means you love me, Sansa. I think that means you love the idea of your absentee husband, of your dream lover, of the man you thought I was.”

“I’ve always known what kind of man you are, Tyrion Lannister. Always. I knew it back in King’s Landing. I knew it when I was hiding in the Vale with Littlefinger. And I knew it as I waited here at Winterfell for your return. You’re a drunk and a lecher and a murderer and a traitor—”

“I think you’re proving my point.”

“But I loved you anyway. I’ve never had any illusions about who or what you are. I know who you are. You’re a kind, brave, gentle man who has never hurt me. Not really. You’re the only man I’ve ever trusted who wasn’t born a Stark, and you’re the only man I’ve ever truly loved, or will ever truly love. You mean everything to me, Tyrion, and I don’t want you to go. I’ll do anything to make you stay. Anything. Please, don’t leave me, not because you think I don’t love you, because nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Sansa, I—” But he couldn’t finish. He searched her eyes, desperately looking for the truth.

Sansa prayed that he would find it. It had taken every last ounce of courage she possessed to confess her feelings, and she didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t believe her. They had come so far, grown so much, over the past few weeks. They had learned to trust each other, and if he stopped trusting her now, when it mattered most, it would all be for nothing.

“I want to believe you,” Tyrion said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Then believe me.”

“But I don’t know how. How . . . how can you love me? Me? Of all the men in all the world? You’ve already listed my faults—and you’ve graciously left out a few, for which I am grateful. How can you love me knowing what I am and what I’ve done?”

Sansa reached out and took both of his hands in hers. She held them to her heart, hoping that he could feel the sincerity in her touch. “You have been nothing but kind to me, Tyrion, when I needed it most. When I left Winterfell, you were the only man I ever met who never wanted anything from me. When your father left us no choice but to wed, you didn’t force yourself into my bed. You told me that you wouldn’t come to me until I wanted you to. You didn’t have to do that. You had every right to make me lie with you because I was your wife. But that isn’t who you are, Tyrion. And it never has been. You’re a kind, gentle soul, but the world has battered and bruised you until that gentleness has become barely recognizable unless you know to look for it. I see it in everything you do. You are a good man, Tyrion Lannister. And the only one worthy of capturing my heart. Please, don’t ever doubt that.”

By the time Sansa finished, there were tears misting Tyrion’s eyes, and she hoped it meant that she had finally gotten through to him. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to tell her that he believed her.

“Oh, Sansa,” Tyrion nearly sobbed. “You poor, poor girl. I pity you if what you say is true.”

Sansa shook her head. “And I pity you, my lord, if you continue to refuse to believe me.”

Despite his obvious melancholy, Tyrion laughed. “Yes, I suppose if I don’t believe you, you’re going to make my life miserable around here, aren’t you?”

“If you choose to stay.”

“Oh, I’m going to stay. Make no mistake about that. I wouldn’t leave now even if the king decreed it. I could never leave you, not now that I know how you really feel, even though I know I don’t deserve it.”

“But you do deserve it, Tyrion. You deserve all of it.” Sansa squeezed his hands in a reassuring gesture. “My love. Eddard’s love. Winterfell. All of it. You always have. And now, it’s time for you to accept that fact and claim what’s rightfully yours.”

Tyrion stared deeply into her eyes and sighed. “Oh, Sansa. Do you have any idea just how wonderful you are and how very much I love you?”

“I have a rather good idea,” she said, her lips quirking in the hint of a smile. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in all my life. I love you more than the sun, the moon, the stars, books, . . . wine.”

Sansa giggled. “Oh, that is a great deal then, isn’t it?”

“I love you more than I thought I was capable of ever loving anyone. You are the kindest, gentlest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. You’re smart and clever and brave, and far, far too good for me. But since you claim to love me, I have no choice but to accept that you do, and to accept your love in return for my own. My heart is not nearly as pure as yours, but I hope you will accept it and care for it anyway, as it’s all I have to give.”

Sansa had never heard anything more romantic, not in a ballad, not in a fairy story. Tyrion Lannister loved her, and he had declared his love with the grace and sincerity of the bravest knight or most dashing prince. She couldn’t have loved him more in that moment if he was as handsome as Ser Loras or as tall as Prince Joffrey. He was perfect exactly as he was, and she wouldn’t have wanted him any other way.

“I will gladly accept your heart,” Sansa said, her hopes soaring as she spoke, “if you will accept mine. It may be purer, but it is a little naïve and untried. And I will need you to teach it a great many things, if you are up to the task.”

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” Tyrion said with a knowing grin.

“Good, because there are many things that I want to learn about being a good wife, and only you can teach me.” She leaned in and kissed him softly, giving him no doubt of her meaning.

Tyrion snaked his hand up behind her head and entwined his fingers in her hair, drawing her closer. He coaxed her lips apart with his tongue and deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with exquisite tenderness. By the time he finally pulled away, they were both breathless, and Sansa wanted nothing more than for him to make love to her right then and there.

“Tell me, my dear wife,” Tyrion said through shallow breaths, “do you still want another child, or was that just a thinly veiled excuse to get me into your bed?”

“I still want another child, my lord. But I want you in my bed as well.”

“And what if another child already grows inside you? Is there any point in us carrying on as we have? After all, it can serve no practical purpose, can it?”

“Of course, it can.”

“And what is that?”

“To show you just how much I love you.”

Tyrion kissed her again, this time with a blinding passion that set her blood on fire. Without a second thought, Sansa reached out and began tugging on the laces of his breeches, trying to set him free, but Tyrion’s hands on her wrists stopped her.

“Perhaps . . . perhaps we should retire to your chamber,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I think we might be more comfortable there.”

But Sansa didn’t care about comfort. All she cared about was expressing her love for her husband. She shook her head. “I think I’m comfortable just as I am,” she said, reaching out and pulling at his laces once again.

Tyrion just stared at her in wonder, clearly too stunned to speak.

Sansa worked the ties with practiced ease. In the past few weeks, she had undressed Tyrion more times than she could remember, and she’d gotten quite good at it. There was no shame between them anymore, no embarrassment or self-consciousness, just desire and love.

Tyrion was free in no time at all, and Sansa gently began stroking his manhood while she leaned in and kissed him again. He moaned into her mouth as she moved her hand along his length, teasing him, torturing him. Sansa knew just how to touch him now, how to bring him close to fulfillment, but still leave him wanting.

As Sansa’s fingers continued to caress Tyrion’s heated flesh, she broke away from his lips and trailed a path of kisses down his throat and across his chest, heading straight for the eager shaft between his legs.

Tyrion’s hands curled into her hair as Sansa took him into her mouth, and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. She smiled to herself, taking great pride in her ability to make her husband happy. She loved him more than anything, and nothing brought her greater joy than showing him just how much.

Sansa sucked and licked and kissed until Tyrion was squirming beneath her. When she knew he wouldn’t last a second longer, she finally broke away, sitting back on her heels and staring up at him. There was so much love in his eyes that she didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it sooner.

Without a word, Sansa stood. She hiked up her skirts and climbed onto the chair, resting her knees on either side of Tyrion’s thighs. Carefully, she lowered herself down onto his shaft, taking his face in her hands again and kissing him. Then, slowly, she began to ride him.

Tyrion gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the flesh beneath her gown. It stung a little, but Sansa didn’t mind. It felt good to know that he wanted her so much, to know that he was fighting his passion so fiercely, waiting for her to take her pleasure before finding his own release.

As her need became more urgent, Sansa broke the kiss, leaning over Tyrion and resting her hands against the back of the chair for better leverage. Once she was in a more stable position, she began to ride him in earnest.

Sansa liked being on top almost as much as she liked Tyrion taking command and pulling her beneath him. It felt wonderful to be in control, to take her pleasure and just enjoy herself. And thankfully, Tyrion enjoyed it just as much as she did.

Sansa closed her eyes, her head bent near his ear, whispering words of love as she moved against him. Tyrion whispered his own sweet nothings, his voice husky and deep. Just the sound of his voice was enough to make the blood run faster through her veins, and she knew it wouldn’t be long until she crashed over the edge.

“I love you, Tyrion,” Sansa said in a mad rush as the feeling suddenly overcame her and her whole body began to tremble with ecstasy. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

A moment later, Tyrion thrust his hips upward—once, twice—and suddenly, he was confessing his love as well, as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

As the last little tremor of pleasure subsided, Sansa slumped against Tyrion. She put her hands on his shoulders and rested her forehead against his. For a long time, they just sat there, their breath fluttering across each other’s lips. When Sansa was finally able to move again, she closed the space between them and kissed him with a thankful sigh.

Tyrion’s hands trailed up her back, holding her close. When she finally pulled away, he encouraged her to lean her head against his shoulder.

Sansa snuggled closer to Tyrion, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. She knew they couldn’t stay that way for long, but it was nice for a moment.

“You never fail to surprise me,” Tyrion said. “Do you know that?”

“And you never fail to surprise me.”

“I don’t think I could love you more at this moment if I tried. You amaze me, Sansa Stark. In everything you do. But most of all, in the fact that you love me. I may never fully understand it, but I believe you with all my heart and all my soul. I believe you. And I am going to do everything in my power to make you happy. I swear it.”

“Then come back to bed with me,” Sansa said. “You were right, this is terribly uncomfortable.”

Tyrion chuckled. “I told you so.”

Sansa finally pulled back. She lifted herself off of Tyrion and got to her feet. Every muscle in her body seemed to ache, but she didn’t care. She knew she’d forget all about it the moment she and Tyrion were lying in bed together again.

Tyrion quickly put his clothes to rights, tying up his breeches as if they hadn’t just done something impossibly wicked. He hopped off the chair, his work long forgotten, and offered her his hand. “Come, wife. We have a great deal of work to do. The next heir to Winterfell isn’t going to make itself.”

Sansa laughed, a soft blush heating her cheeks. “Yes, my lord. As you wish.”

Sansa took his hand and allowed him to lead her from the room. She was happier than she had ever been before, because now, she had the thing she had waited for her whole life, Tyrion’s love. And she was going to do everything in her power to protect and cherish it, because she never, ever wanted to lose him again.


	6. Alternate Chapter Thirty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This alternate version of Chapter Thirty-three was written to follow the alternate version of Chapter Twenty-two. For the most part, it’s the same chapter that made it into the final story. The only difference is that, in this version, Sansa still hasn’t told Tyrion that she’s pregnant.

#### Alternate Chapter Thirty-three

Jamie pulled away, and it was time for Sansa and Brienne to say their goodbyes. The two women hugged like sisters, and there was a tear in Sansa’s eye when they finally broke apart.

“I wish you all happiness and health for the baby,” Sansa said. “You must send a raven as soon as it’s born.”

“Of course,” Brienne replied. “And if you should have some good news of your own soon, I do hope that you will send a raven straight away.”

Tyrion looked up at Sansa. Her cheeks were red, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He had been waiting daily for her to tell him that she was pregnant, but she hadn’t said a word. He didn’t know how long it took a woman to recognize the signs, but he was certain that if Sansa were with child, he would have known by now. Tyrion was beginning to fear that it would never happen. After all, they had made love every night for nearly a moonturn, and as far as he knew, his seed still hadn’t taken root.

“You will be one of the first to know,” Sansa told Brienne. “I promise.”

“Good. I am glad to hear it.”

Sansa and Brienne hugged again, saying their goodbyes with the grace of two highborn ladies. There was no blubbering, no wailing, just warm wishes and polite farewells. The moment they broke apart, Tyrion caught his first glimpse of Eddard running into the yard to say his goodbyes as well.

***

As Sansa and Tyrion stood side by side in the yard, she said, “I’d like a private word with you, if you have a moment.”

Tyrion dragged his eyes away from Eddard and looked up at his wife. She was still staring at the gate, watching Eddard pace.

“For you, dear Sansa, I have all the time in the world, but what about Eddard? I fear he is not going to take Jaime’s departure all that well.”

“I think he will be well soon enough. I’ve asked Arya to watch after him for a little while. Will you join me in the library?”

Sansa finally looked at him, and Tyrion’s heart leapt with anticipation. Either she was going to tell him that she was carrying his child or she was going to make obscene love to him in the library. Whichever it was, he was more than willing to oblige her.

“Of course,” Tyrion replied. “I live to serve, my lady.”

He reached up and took her by the elbow, leading her back toward the keep. Arya was already looking after Eddard, standing by his side as he strained to watch Jaime and Brienne disappear into the distance.

Tyrion and Sansa entered the keep together, but as they walked the corridors, no words passed between them. There was just an easy, comfortable silence that felt as natural as breathing.

When they were finally alone together, sitting in the library in the matching chairs by the hearth, Sansa turned to Tyrion with expectant eyes and said, “I have news.”

“Well, I hope it’s not that your cousin Jon intends to have me arrested for treason. Every time we get a raven from the Red Keep, I still fear that my time has come. I’m just waiting for Arya to turn me in.”

Sansa laughed. “That isn’t going to happen. I’ve already vouched for you where Jon is concerned. You need not worry about that ever again.”

“I thank you for that. I once swore to protect you, and now, you are protecting me, and I am grateful for it. So,” Tyrion said, a smile spreading across his lips, “tell me your news. I can’t wait a moment longer.”

“I’m going to have a baby, your baby,” Sansa said, beaming from ear to ear.

Tyrion’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, his head felt foggy and the world around him lost all focus. He’d hoped, he’d prayed, that this day would come—and he wasn’t a praying man. He was so overcome with joy that he simply didn’t know how to express it.

“Well?” Sansa prompted when he continued silent. “Are you happy?”

Tyrion opened his mouth to speak but had trouble getting the words out. It was all so much, and he was trying his damnedest not to let his emotions overpower him. “I . . . I am the happiest I have ever been,” he said, finding it difficult to catch his breath. “Oh, Sansa, this is wonderful! I knew it would happen. I knew it. It was just a matter of time.”

Sansa blushed, and Tyrion found it positively endearing. He was amazed by the fact that, even after everything they had done together in their bedchamber, Sansa was still capable of blushing in his presence.

“Well,” she said, “it was bound to happen, considering how many times we’ve shared a bed.”

Tyrion smiled. “Well, I’m glad that I could accommodate you, my lady. Do my duty to king and country.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it.”

“Oh, I do indeed.” Tyrion leaned forward in his chair, far enough to take both her hands in his own. “I love you, Sansa Lannister.” Now that things were settled between them, he had learned to like calling her by that name. “And you’ve just made me the happiest man in all of Westeros.”

“You’re not the only one who’s happy,” Sansa said, squeezing his hands and letting him know just how much she loved him. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. A happy life with a husband and children I adore.”

“Dozens of little wolves running around the yard.”

Sansa laughed. “And lions.”

Tyrion’s heart swelled with manly pride. It meant a lot to him that Sansa never discounted his name or his legacy when talking about their future. She was proud to bear the name Lannister, just as he was proud to be married to a Stark. Even after all they had been through because of their families, they had both grown to appreciate what it meant to belong to the other’s house.

Tyrion lifted her hands and bowed his head so that he could kiss both of them in turn. When he looked up at her again, there was so much love in her eyes that he thought his heart would melt. He inched forward, to the edge of his chair, and stretched upward so that he could kiss her. She met him halfway, and he kissed her deeply, tenderly, with all the love that was welling up in his heart.

Just as Tyrion entwined his hands in her hair, there was a knock at the door, but he chose to ignore it. He continued kissing her until she purposefully pulled away.

“That’s Eddard,” she said, practically giggling with the effort.

“Eddard?”

“Yes, I asked Arya to bring him here. I wanted a chance to tell you first, before we both told him together.”

There was another knock at the door, but neither one of them answered it.

“Does Arya know?” Tyrion asked.

“What doesn’t Arya know?”

A truer question had never been asked. Of course she knew. She knew everything. She’d probably known about the baby even before Sansa had.

“Can I let him in now?” Sansa asked, the hint of a smile on her lips.

“If you must,” Tyrion said with a regretful sigh. “I suppose we can’t keep them waiting forever.”

Tyrion reluctantly broke away, leaning back in his chair as Sansa bid Arya and Eddard enter.

Eddard barreled into the room ahead of his aunt. His face was all blotchy, and his eyes were red-rimmed. It was obvious that he’d been crying over Jaime’s departure. Now, Tyrion understood why Sansa had waited until today to tell them both about the baby. It took some of the sting out of losing Jaime.

Arya said not a word. She just gave Tyrion a pointed look, turned around, and left them alone again, closing the door behind her.

***

Tyrion stared at Sansa, trying to figure out how in the world they had ever ended up here. When he’d first come to Winterfell, all those years ago, he could never have imagined himself married to the auburn-haired beauty who had already been promised to his nephew. He could never have imagined her loving him or being happy to bear his child. It was a miracle that he knew only the gods could have orchestrated. They had wanted this for him, he didn’t know why, but they had. And he was more than happy to take their gift and never question their wisdom again. He loved Sansa and Eddard and his unborn child, and there was nothing he wanted more than to spend the rest of his days at Winterfell being close to them and protecting them from all harm. They were his life, and he wanted no other. He was content, not just to be the Lord of Winterfell or Eddard’s father, but to be Sansa’s husband. It had been his fate from the start, and he was grateful that he and Sansa had somehow found their way back to each other after so many years apart. Tyrion knew he didn’t deserve her, but he would endeavor to be the best man he could be for her sake, because he loved her, and he was never going to leave her again.


End file.
